ABSTRACT
Barbara had not had a good week. The tiredness had persisted, and she had felt nauseous much of the time. Her mood seemed to fluctuate a lot, although generally it was low. She had bouts of feeling angry, feeling responsible, feeling sad, feeling alone, anxious, afraid. And then there were other moments, strange moments in many ways, when she seemed suddenly quite calm. She wanted to talk about it, and she wanted to talk through some of the things she wanted to do for herself in the weeks ahead. The prognosis remained poor; the doctors were particularly concerned about her liver. She didn’t feel she had much time to do what she wanted, and somehow she was feeling she wouldn’t be able to do everything. She didn’t want to lose hope, but she knew she also had to prepare herself, and everyone else, for what was probably inevitable – her death. Yet it still seemed impossible to think about, to imagine. And it was too painful . . . .
